Clarity
by Mademoiselle Anime Amour
Summary: A new Ghostface from Woodsboro has decided to prey on students from the nearby town of Lincoln. One Bianca Holland is a victim he has been playing with for quite some time. What happens when she decides to fight him for the last time? M for strong words.


**A/N: Or, really, just think of this as a replacement Scream 4 only with all new characters. XD After all, this isn't completely original but not completely fanfic either. Half and half, I guess. As someone who's a fan of the ORIGINAL Scream movies, I have no desire to watch Scream 4 at all. So many of my least favorite actresses are in it, it's not even funny. Makes you realize the 90's really is over.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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_"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down."_

_-Socrates_

* * *

**Clarity**

Eighteen-year-old Bianca Holland flipped through the pages of her school newspaper quickly, so as to blot the front-page picture out of her mind. Trace Bossman, part-time high school wide receiver and full-time intimidating bully to the unfortunate geeks, had made headlines but not for his excellent catches.

No, he died last week, so Lincoln High issued a special edition of the paper in his honor. Presumably, it was a suicide, but Bianca knew better.

A meathead jock with an undeniably bright, foreseeable future with offers from Notre Dame and Ohio State had everything to live for. Sure, she would admit that it was quite sick of the school to sing its praises for a tormentor like him, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that _he _clearly struck again.

He was a young male only by her assumption, since he would call her every now and again. Of course, as her luck would have it, she had never seen his face. Just heard his silky smooth voice, spinning a web of equal parts flirtation and thinly veiled threats to kill her.

The creep had even kindly invited himself into her home a couple of times, catching her off her guard with her being alone in the house. Consistently wearing a mask that was hilarious yet daunting and a flowing Halloween-esque robe, he had come after her with a knife. Never would he so much as whisper a word then.

The enigma shrouded himself in complete mystery, but one thing Bianca knew for certain. As evil as he seemed to be, he only actually stabbed those who oppressed other kids from school. So, with her situation, she pondered over the possibility that this serial killer could be in fact playing a sadistic game with her. However, she would rather be more severe and call it sadomasochistic to the exponential degree.

"Too bad about Trace." Her friend Hilary tried to sound sincere, but her tone fell flat. She hadn't approved of his insistence on shoving the weak into their lockers either. He'd loved that _Dazed and Confused _quote "Only the strong survive."

Bianca idly flipped her light red hair back over her shoulder. "Yeah, really. I think it'd suck to die your senior year. But still...I can't believe the school paper wasted print on him. That's bullshit."

"I know. Besides, all Trace did was pick on those poor tech club kids and cheat on his girlfriends. I know you shouldn't speak ill of the dead and all that, but he was kind of a mean person. Once you think about it." Hilary thoughtfully popped a green bubble, picking at her limp school salad absentmindedly.

Bianca nodded. "Totally agree with you, Hil. But, pfft, watch the yearbook put in a special page devoted to him. When our jocks are gone, you bet your ass the school goes into crazy mourning mode. You know what? Let's not talk about him any more. He makes me sick."

Hilary narrowed her eyes. "You're acting like he deserved to die."

Bianca shrugged. "I don't feel much sympathy for bullies. Sorry."

Though she must have sounded insincere bordering on callous when it came to poor, tragic Trace, she spoke honestly. Indeed, she had every right to be set against bullies, the jocks especially.

That out-of-school party last year at Ross Anderson's place had not been worth it...

"So, apparently, the spring fashion includes sundresses." She proceeded to mock the rest of the paper laughingly, green eyes glowing. "Give all the boys a chance to look up your skirt. No thanks."

Her faithful best friend laughed. "Skirts? What about all those sluts wearing 'come fuck me' short shorts?"

The two girls giggled in their teenage catty way, though Bianca inwardly flinched. Why would she joke about female spring/summer clothes? She was one to talk about poor taste. On that frightening June night, she had been wearing a blue miniskirt.

No, no, live in the present. Live in the present. Class of 2011 would be out in two months. She just hoped that _he _wouldn't target her next.

* * *

The following night, a Friday night that brought everyone out to the theater, the bars, the corner of Fifth and Sixth for a private, small-town drug deal...Whatever, her mom had called, saying that she would have to work late again.

It royally sucked when your divorced mom was one of the few attorneys-at-law in town. Bianca sometimes thought about moving in with her dad, even though he recently got himself a twenty-eight-year-old girlfriend. Ten years older than her, sick.

In the meantime, to keep up her roughly 3.9 GPA, she currently typed up her AP English Lit paper that was due Monday. Her fellow classmates could gripe all they wanted, but she thought that _Jane Eyre _was one of the best books she'd ever read. Completely Victorian and melodramatic in every way, but she loved it. If these other so-called smarties were so intelligent, why couldn't they appreciate good literature? Wasn't that the point of the course?

"'For example, the use of the color red was symbolic in the sense that it represented blood, particularly death. As a young girl, Jane being terrified of the red room meant that'...," Bianca dictated to herself, lightly hammering on the keys of her Mac Book when the phone interrupted her. Automatic chills raced down her back.

As she apprehensively picked it up, she knew it wouldn't be Mom on the other end. It had only been twenty minutes since she'd called.

"Hello?" She pretended to sound nonchalant, even as her head pounded with a sudden ache and her heart threatened to run away.

"Home alone on a Friday night, Bianca?" the low, husky voice taunted, attempting to wheedle an irate response out of her. "Come on, why aren't you out? I thought you were big on the party scene."

Holding the receiver slightly away from her, Bianca released a shallow breath, involuntarily closing her eyes. Oh yeah, she used to party on the sly, to prove she wasn't that good girl from middle school, the meek one who hid herself away in a corner. She drank and everything else. But, after Anderson's party, never again. Hell no.

"Shut up, asshole," she spoke as firmly as she could, barely managing to not betray a quaver. "High school parties are for morons. All the sickos come out to play. Speaking of which, where are you at?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he playfully sneered, sending an unconscious shiver through her. God, she had issues.

"Ha, ha, ha. How come I'm not laughing?"

"Oh, come _on_, B. You know I was just messin' with you. Can't you tell the difference?"

"I never can tell with you," she retorted acidly. "Now, can you leave me alone? I don't have time for your phone sex. I got an English paper to write."

"Oooh, an English paper, exciting. Riveting, honestly. I guess it would beat the typical, boring high school party, wouldn't it? I'll be over in a few to _spice things up _with you."

That got Bianca's attention as she sat more upright on the living room couch. "There's no way that you'll—"

The other line went dead. In stereotypical horror movie fashion.

Inwardly, she cursed out the creep who intended on ruining her life, humiliating her with his clever words. His tongue was as sharp as the knife he wielded so artfully, lethal in his grasp. After all, because of that knife that could catch anyone unaware, six teenagers could no longer speak. They couldn't tell their tales of how Mr. Creepy Ghostface Mask Guy broke into their homes (usually the case) to slaughter them.

Bianca morbidly wondered what those kids had thought before their lives ebbed away from them. Did they fear death as they literally looked it in the face? In all honesty, she was beginning to acknowledge that she could share the same fate with them. And why not? Her life was far from perfect, even now, lonely in her house without Mom around. No Hil. No anybody else because high schoolers could be heartless bastards who would turn their backs on you at a moment's notice. Especially with your rep in shambles.

Deciding that she couldn't bear the absolute silent solitude that working diligently on homework created, Bianca flipped on the TV. In bleak desperation, she turned it to the Food Network. Anything to make her feel she wasn't alone, waiting for him to waltz on in and slice and dice her.

Then, it occurred to her. Think smarter, not harder. In other words, why should she have to lazily sit on the couch, available prey for her twisted stalker to kill her in cold blood easily?

She wouldn't make it simple for this psychopath.

Two minutes later, she perched more gingerly on the couch, laptop set aside and a butcher knife under the cushions. If he tried to cut her, then she would cut him in return. Hopefully, she'd cut the jugular vein.

Killing him would be a last resort, though, considering Bianca preferred the openness of guileless pacifism. She was willing to give people a chance before enacting on anything harsh. Besides that, this not-so-stranger, this eerie young man she could merely guess he was, had saved her. Once, enough to confuse Bianca to the brink of having warm feelings toward him.

Not love, just gratitude.

At that awful party, she had gotten intoxicated with one or two or three too many beers. One of Trace Bossman's friends, compatriot and another resident bully Garret Williams, hit on her, and she'd had the idiocy to think he was cute. She let him drag her up to Anderson's sister's bedroom, giggling all the way. First real boyfriend, here she came!

However, she couldn't be optimistic for long when, as soon as he closed the door, Garret crudely licked his lips. He shoved her onto the bed, following after her to ground her hips with his. Rough hands pushed up her brand-new navy blue miniskirt, exposing black lacy, naughty Victoria's Secret lingerie.

Bianca shut her eyes in revulsion and dread, cursing herself for thinking that wearing lingerie to a hot party was a great idea. Garret's arousal from her pain was all too clear. His uncompromising lips aggressively kissed her neck, but all sentimentality was tarnished with his lust.

"No. Garret, I don't want thi—Garret, stop!" She proceeded to panic once she realized through her drunken haze that he was removing the straps of her white tank top.

What did that idiot do? He laughed unpleasantly in response.

That was when her masked stalker opened the window and jumped through the opening to tackle Garret right off her trembling body.

He grunted. "What the hell, man? I was gonna score with her."

"Were you, now?" A menacing tone underlay his dark voice, muffled through his mask. "Looks like I'll be the one scoring."

Bianca understandably took this the wrong way, shutting her eyes tighter to block out whatever the creep would do next. Whatever he would do to _her_.

Instead, an agonized scream echoed throughout the room, causing her eyes to go wide open. Garret lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, a deep stab wound in his chest with a pool of blood already fast forming. He was very still.

Her gaze then traveled to the masked, robed man sitting on the sill, motioning to her with his head to get out of there.

"Wh-What? Why? Aren't you going to—?"

"Don't ask dumbass questions, just go!" he yelled at her intensely.

And that was how the creep had saved her from getting raped.

Nonetheless, to this day, Bianca was traumatized over the whole incident, shocked that she had been so precariously close to having her virginity forcibly stolen away. And she had learned that night who the true monster really was. At least the masked man (teenager?) hadn't attempted forcing himself on her, only dancing around her with a knife in their game of cat-and-mouse.

Death wasn't as cruel in comparison to your innocence fleeing from you when someone chose to desecrate it. As Garret had been the star basketball player, other girls (admirers of his, really) had glared unforgivingly at her at school the next few days while dabbing their running mascara from their eyes. They'd gossiped about her online and off, calling her everything from a whore to a tease. They even went so far as to accuse her of being the cause of Garret's death.

Only she knew the truth from that night. Let those idiotic preppy girls believe that he would have been worthy of their time. She knew he was scum and that he should burn in hell.

The phone rang again, deeply perturbing her since she thought she was about ready to continue her assignment from where she left off. Instead, Bianca resigned herself to setting the TV on mute and picking the phone up on the second ring. Her heart fluttered in anxious foreboding.

He whispered on the other end, "That Guy Fieri's show makes for fairly interesting TV...for a cooking show. Craving a burger, B? Because you sure as hell could use one."

"Calling me thin?" Bianca asked, both offended and perplexed.

"Well, you look like you could use a little meat on your bones, that's all I'm saying. Maybe if you actually ate all your dinner. That way, you wouldn't be eating peanut butter out of the fucking jar at one a.m."

She groaned from the revelation that this freak was out that late staking out her house, probably peering through every window. "You're not my doctor. I don't know who the hell you are, but we might as well end this tonight."

"Might as well," he echoed silkily, his voice like coffee with cream.

It struck her as odd that he could be so warped in every sense of the word yet pulled off an obscure charisma that radiated sensuality. Whatever his real identity, Bianca assumed that he was intriguing. Maybe he'd been a ladykiller in his heyday.

But, not now. At some point, whether early on in his childhood or two years ago, something had tainted his mind, his heart. Now, he set himself against the world, her in particular, for ultimate vengeance.

With shaking fingers, she idly wound the phone coil around them as a method of keeping herself sane. "I've been thinking about that Ross Anderson's party a while back. You didn't let me ask my questions."

He sounded calm, too calm. "Look, I was mainly focused on getting out of there before anyone noticed that a member of your school's _elite _was stabbed. I didn't have time for you to ask meaningless questions, especially since you needed to get out of there, too. If you were smart, you did. If you were a complete dumb bimbo, you were wandering around to get to another jock and have him try fucking you without your permission. Please tell me I'm wrong. You're not a dumb bimbo, are you?"

"You condescending bastard," she snarled, clinging onto the receiver. "You have no right to think...I almost got raped! And you know what I did after that? I stumbled down the stairs, which got all the jocks and preps laughing, and I got into Melanie's car. She _was _my friend, or that's what I used to think. She thought the party would be off the charts. Hil told me not to go, and I should have listened to her!"

There was a silence, interrupted by periods of audible breathing.

"Well?"

"You expect me to feel sorry for you, B?"

"No," she flatly responded, crossing her arms. "No, not at all. So, I threw up in Melanie's car, she got pissed because it was her BMW, and she ditched me the next day. That was after she dropped me off two blocks away from my house, so I had to stagger all the way home."

"You deserved it," he muttered harshly.

Bianca's rage at the creep heightened considerably. "Well, fuck you! I s'pose if it was up to you, you'd rape me."

"No, you deserved to know the repercussions of what you did. You high school bitches are all alike, desperate to conform to what the popular idiots are doing. If they drink, it's OK for you. If they screw like rabbits, that's fine, too. You were trying to become one of them. That makes you a sad, sick human being."

"Come inside with your little mask you hide behind and say that to my face, you coward!" she screamed, wrathfully slamming the phone back in its cradle.

In the two seconds it took her to do that, she could hear the back door (the one she'd forgotten to lock) burst open. Now, she could put that butcher knife to good use. Did he think that she would innocently sit there in her living room, unprepared for him and his own anger?

As if she was suicidal. As much as she would love to shout at him to come and get her, she was aware that she couldn't be childish. Not if she valued her life. Holding the butcher knife protectively close to her chest, Bianca swiftly yet silently rushed to the kitchen.

To her sickening astonishment, he wasn't there, though the back door hesitantly swung on its hinges. Her heart plunging down to her stomach, she shut the door, wondering where he disappeared to. He had a tendency to do that, vanishing behind overlooked corners and shadows. At this point, between her and him, he'd become addicted to their game like a habitual gambler.

_That perv better not be in my room, _Bianca thought angrily yet worriedly.

She had to check there, just in case he was that much of a voyeur. Clasping the knife behind her back, she tiptoed upstairs...

...And was grabbed by the back of her magenta blouse.

On her descent, she impulsively threw a hand on the rail to prevent her from falling on her back on the hardwood floor. Fingers tightening on the rail, she slowed her breathing. Slowly, she turned around to see if he was there, knife at the ready.

Not there.

"Come out, dammit," Bianca murmured, heading toward the living room. She could be searching for him all night and still not get anywhere with it. He was that fast. He was that subtle. He was that skilled.

Just as she craned her head against the partition between the stairs area and the living room, he pounced on her from behind. As was to be expected, her knife clattered to the floor once it fell out of her hands. Bianca cursed under her breath.

The tip of his weapon was at her throat, but she gripped his wrist in a nearly vice-like grip. Self-defense classes were starting to pay off, though she hadn't been a rape victim. However, she'd taken some time after school to ensure that it stayed that way.

She aggressively jabbed her elbow in his ribs, causing him to double over with his arms around his stomach. His knife fell. This gave her just enough time to pick up hers from the floor and slice at his right arm with it, tearing the fabric of his sleeve in the process.

He acted like this injury was nothing as he tackled her to the floor.

In what she felt was a fight for her life, Bianca kicked his chest, propelling him back against the wall.

Enough fighting, she had to call 9-1-1.

Sprinting to the couch, she hurtled over the back to frantically grab at the phone. Once she did, she discovered an extremely disconcerting thing. The receiver's cord was cut in half. He'd thought of everything this time instead of acting impulsively as quickly as possible.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted, trying not to sob over her terrible luck.

She aimed the phone at his head before hurling it toward him. He smoothly caught it without probably so much as batting an eyelash.

Releasing a tense sigh, Bianca let her head fall back on the arm rest while a timid voice (she recognized it as her seventh grade self) asked her if she should surrender. She had run out of options. Mom was preoccupied with a case. Hilary's date was tonight, so she'd be out of town with her boyfriend Kevin, off to some concert. It was Vampire Weekend or some indie band. Her father she could hardly rely on for anything. And as for other friends—well, Hilary was one of her only friends now.

"Go ahead," she murmured quietly, so quietly that her stalker had to lean over the couch to hear. "Kill me. That's what you want, right? You win."

It wasn't like she'd lost the will to live, not by any means. Bianca could tell when she had been beat. And she did want this ongoing battle to come to a finale, whether she won or lost. She was tried of the phone calls in which he would sometimes tell her scathing things. Other times, he seemed vaguely approachable, not quite friendly but nearly there.

As for home invasions, this was the third one. Apparently, making house calls was normally distasteful to him. Phone calls, when she couldn't see him with that idiotic excuse for a Halloween costume, put him more at ease.

When a gloved hand brushed her cheek, she alertly sat up and flailed her arms.

With an odd gentleness, he pushed her back down. "Shhh, it's OK, B."

Admittedly, she secretly adored his nickname for her.

Hmph, didn't matter. He would probably coax her to sleep with his pretty voice and words, so he could kill her that way. She'd doubted he would be that merciful, but perhaps he would consider that tactic. After all, she found herself in a pitiful situation here.

She stroked a hand through her mid-length light red hair. "It's not OK. You came to my house to try killing me again. It's all or nothing, you know! You die or I die or we both die! We can't just let each other live. One of us has to die. It has to end. You agreed with me on that."

"Did I?" he whispered alluringly, settling himself onto the other arm rest. Through his jet-black jeans, Bianca could tell that he had strong, powerful legs. Some weird feeling stirred in her chest.

"D-Duh." She gave herself a mental slap for stuttering like that shy seventh grade loser who used to be bullied. "You said 'might as well', so I'm assuming that's what you wanted to do."

Her irksome enigma shook his head back and forth slowly. "I was just repeating what you said. I made up my mind a long time ago."

"Which was?" she prompted, suddenly curious over the color of his eyes.

For more dramatic effect, he inched closer toward her until his body hovered right above her. "I'm not going to kill you."

Narrowing her eyes distrustfully at his current position, she replied, "That's good to know. I'm thinking you're planning something way worse then."

She was dying to see what expression flashed across his face once she subtly accused him of planning to hurt her in worse ways. More intimate ways that would break down her defenses from which she wouldn't be able to recover. Would he be that cruel, beyond words and break-ins?

The fear in her eyes must have been obvious, for he drew back and sat on his haunches. "I won't do _that_ to you either."

"So, was there a reason why you broke in at Anderson's and killed...killed Garret?" Bianca inquired, questioning the credibility of his earlier answers.

She still winced when she said his name, even though he'd been dead for almost a year. But, the fact that he had been on the edge of forcibly claiming her virginity...

Sitting composedly there, gazing at her through eyes she couldn't read, he remained silent. He most likely needed a brief pause to muse over things. What other demons lurked in his soul besides his bloodlust?

Finally, he said softly, "Because I saw what he was about to do. He was sober and you were wasted and he was going to take complete advantage of that. The bastard didn't care how immoral it was. I...I couldn't stand to see you in so much pain."

With a shudder, Bianca couldn't believe the beauty of his expressed concern and sympathy toward her. "That's coming from a killer. I mean, I understand the other deaths but why me? You might not want to kill me now, but you did back two years ago. Why?"

His gloved hand moved back a strand of hair from her face, caressing her cheek while she didn't flinch from his touch. "You used to try being one of them, the popular bullies. You pissed me off at Wal-Mart once, acting like I was beneath you. Sophomore year, I think it was. I resented you for that."

"Oh...," she trailed off, uncertain of what to say due to the vast amount of shame she felt about the girl she'd been.

Her stuck-up, wannabe attitude had been the result of an insecure girl in junior high dealing with the break-up of her parents. So, to solve the problem of her torn-up emotions and social pitfalls, she had sought out popularity.

What a stupid decision for her to have made.

"I'm sorry I did that to you," she apologized sincerely.

"It's fine. Because when I'd call you, you'd end up retreating within yourself when I'd get all sarcastic. You've been hurt, B. Bullied. And that night proved it to me more than at any time. I couldn't think of killing you after that. I could identify with you. Share things in common with you."

Had he been hurt, too? If so, how much abuse had he gotten? To what extent? Physical? Emotional? Both? Bianca yearned to ask him all these questions, but she figured that he would revert back to the serial killer he was. She would hate to witness that.

A dry smile flitted onto her lips. "It's funny how my vulnerability made you not want to kill me and back off from that. I thought if you detected any of my weakness, you would use them against me."

He shrugged. "I tend not to select victims with weaknesses like yours. More like with Williams' and Bossman's, which was blatant stupidity."

Strangely enough, she chuckled at his dark humor. "Yeah."

She sat up straighter on the couch, so both of them sat on their knees facing each other. Part of her warned her that she was in danger of falling for her attempted murderer. However, she would give him that he knew when to quit.

After a practically awkward silence, he told her, "I have to show you something. Close your eyes."

Bianca shouldn't have trusted to do even that much with him around, knife not exactly in hand but nearby. Nonetheless, she closed her eyes without much worry over what would happen next. As she did so, she heard the sound of ripping cloth and felt the sensation of him tying the cloth around her head.

He'd fashioned a blindfold for her, and she couldn't remotely fathom why.

"OK...You're showing me a blindfold. Oooh, I'm impressed?"

He laughed in response, which compelled her to reflect on how pleasant it was when it wasn't biting. "Actually, not really showing you. You take off my mask, and I'll take off your blindfold eventually."

"Hope so," Bianca replied in a sing-song way.

She was positively thrilled to unmask him but apprehensive at the same time. Tentatively, as though really blinded, she reached out her hands towards him until she found the mask.

"Am I warm?" she asked.

"Very." And he wasn't just talking about the proximity of her hands to his mask either. She sensed a shy smile crawling across her face.

As though this was a moment of high drama, she painstakingly removed the mask. It was technically no big deal that his face would be revealed, considering she wore a blindfold made from his costume. Or disguise, whichever.

Not knowing where to put it, she unceremoniously dropped it on the carpet floor.

Overwhelmed with exhilaration, Bianca found that her fingers shook as she resolved to start with his shoulders. Broad, very broad. What else could you say about a guy's shoulders? At any rate, she could tell that he must work out quite often.

Then, up to his neck, where she felt his Adam's apple. Not much to comment about either, only that he took a large gulp of air. That amused her.

A killer, nervous?

With a graceful tilt of her slender fingers, she gently touched his chin, which was square-ish. There was a tiny dent there. Her palm open flat, she soon found herself cradling his chin. She could feel him lowering his head just to enjoy her touch.

She smiled slightly. "I wonder if you have nice cheekbones."

He did, and they were high up at that along with being fully pronounced. In her mind, Bianca puzzled all these features together to figure out his real face. Without a doubt, she was confident that he was a handsome guy.

Patting his forehead, she felt the flat plain of it with some acne. Oh well, what young person didn't have these irksome blemishes? And then she liberally raked her fingers through his slightly wavy, shaggy hair. Lovely, glossy hair, no doubt. All the while, unbeknownst to her, she moved intimately closer to him.

She traced the shape of his nose, long and angular, much like the rest of his face. Once she got near his eyes, he promptly closed them so she could touch the eyelids. Again, she became curious over what his eyes looked like. All she knew was that they could probably gaze deep into her soul.

"What color are your eyes?" she whispered, enthralled by the tenderness of this moment.

"Blue," he answered, his voice no longer muffled.

It entranced her to hear it and the husky, sensual undertones.

Blue eyes...Damn, she was a sucker for them. However, it did depend on shade when it came to how thrown she would be by them. It was a safe bet that they would appear breathtakingly beautiful.

Speaking of which, she had one facial component left to explore.

Just as she internally prepared to touch his lips, she found that her fingers suddenly trembled uncontrollably. This would be such a bold move for her to do this. Should she trace his lips, memorize the curve of them, the plumpness of them? That and she would be sorely tempted to...to...follow through with something irrational. Crazy.

Not. Sane.

He must have taken off his leather gloves at some point, for his warm, calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"It's OK, B," he reassured her rather kindly. "I don't bite...much."

"I'll hold you to that." Bianca laughed out of nerves. "And by the way...You have an incredibly sexy voice."

Rich like velvet, he chuckled. "Thanks."

His mood seemed to brighten around her face-to-face, now that this attempted murder turned out to be a complete and total bluff. A lie, but a very relieving one that cleared the air.

With that in mind, Bianca touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. She let out a content sigh, peaceful and in total bliss. God, they were so beautiful. From the curve to the fullness of them, she was in awe of what she deemed to be this sweetness. A sweetness she'd never expected from a well-trained knife wielder.

"Tell me your name," she softly implored, her fingers continuing to trace his lips. "Please."

Releasing a long exhale, he murmured, "Josh."

She could feel her fingers vibrate with his lips telling her his name, reverberating within her mind and soul. There was a bit of closure achieved now that she at least knew his name. It made him seem less of a sinister entity and more human somehow.

As still as possible, with fingers lingering on his lips, she repeated, "Josh...That name is so..._normal_."

She felt him smile wryly. "You expected my name to be Malachi?"

Bianca couldn't help but smile back. "Something like that, yeah. Something that sounded evil. You're surprising me more all the time, Josh."

There was a change in atmosphere that she couldn't quite explain, one that was freer and lighter somehow. This wasn't how your typical horror movie was supposed to work. Repulsed by the slasher, she should have turned the tables on him and killed him. Not be killed by screaming in a high-pitched teen girl way but to get her revenge on him.

Instead, she'd taken a break to learn the slasher's name and his intentions, which weren't entirely soulless. After all, bullies lived to be tyrannical toward those they deemed the lesser ones.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be but...Did it matter?

All she was aware of was that shift from icy to warm before Josh took hold of her fingers on his lips and started kissing them.

"You know," Bianca brought up, willing to talk about something (anything) to preoccupy her mind apart from his desire for her, "I knew a Josh once. I actually knew a couple Josh's, but this one I hung out with in third grade. Josh Ellison."

Josh Ellison had been one of the most ridiculed kids she'd ever come across, this victimizing being ridiculously unnecessary and wrong. He never did anything to hurt anybody from what she saw. And yet, she'd been the sole classmate of his to befriend him genuinely, not out of pity but liking. Meantime, the others teased and bullied him, poking fun at his secondhand clothes, his preference for art and music over Transformers, and his cheap wire glasses.

But, back before her shallow phase, Bianca looked past all that to find a kind, gentle person.

This Josh cautiously removed his lips away from her fingers, leaving her cold, empty, and acutely aware with her blindfold. Fortunately, he didn't draw back from her but remained as close as ever.

He cradled her chin in his hand. "B...Bianca."

And then he kissed her with every ounce of passion he held for her. Utterly bewildered, she stiffened from disbelief.

No, no, no! Wrong, wrong, wrong! How could she when he was a murderer, a psycho- and sociopath, and virtually messed-up?

His warm breath tickled her ear lobe as he whispered huskily, "Don't overthink this, Bianca. We're very attracted to each other. That's all that matters. Don't be afraid."

Ironic, that he should advise her of that when, in the past, he'd been so hellbent on interfering with what was otherwise her tranquil, slightly angst-ridden adolescent life.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she asked, her voice trembling almost unnoticeably, but Josh had always seemed very intelligent. He could pick up on the most insignificant social cues.

This wasn't any different. Stroking her hair soothingly, then placing his hands protectively over her shoulders, he consoled her. "Does this feel like I'm lying?"

His soft, full lips landed on hers once again and, more confident of allowing it to happen, Bianca clumsily kissed back. As it was her first real kiss, she didn't know exactly how to return one well with an equal amount of passion. Before she could pull back again, this time from embarrassment, Josh pressed his lips harder against hers. It was to convince her that he didn't care how she kissed, as long as he had her in his arms.

While he proved to her the depth of his feelings and the truth that he wouldn't harm her again, he untied her blindfold.

"Josh...I thought you were trying to hide your identity from me," Bianca murmured lazily, slurred, as though she'd become intoxicated from his kiss. Her eyes stayed closed, though she knew the blindfold was tossed aside.

"I thought I was but...No more hiding," he insisted, fingers gently tugging at the hair on the nape of her neck. "Not from you."

She smiled against his lips, her eyes gradually opening...

Her jaw dropped at the handsomeness staring unflinchingly back at her, not to mention he looked...looked vaguely familiar.

Josh's skin was pale with the barest hint of freckles, like he got a little sun but not enough for a full-on tan. His blue eyes were of a pale shade, the type that could glow in the dark like that. Luminescent under the shed moonlight in the room, they transfixed her in their steady gaze.

And his hair was rich, glossy black that hung about his eyes in a shaggy mess. Then again, it had been that shaggy when he'd had to move ten minutes away to Woodsboro in fourth grade.

"J-Josh?" Bianca downright stammered, for this was her old friend Josh from Lincoln Elementary.

He smiled genuinely at her, even giving her a small wave. "Hey, B."

Spontaneous recovery burst in her mind, forcing her to remember that Josh Ellison had called her that as a kid.

Then, regret washed over her. "Damn...God, Josh, I'm so sorry about the Wal-Mart thing. I bumped into you and blamed you for it. But, I didn't have to call you a freak. I didn't recognize you. And...And you're the Lincoln killer...This is one hell of a weird reunion."

To her surprise, Josh chuckled again with a trace of affection. "I agree. It was. But"—here, he grew serious—"Woodsboro was definitely not good for me. At all. My foster family there treated me like shit. That fucked me up, as you can tell from the killings. Cuz, obviously, Woodsboro schools aren't much better than here, I can tell you that much. I live on my own now. Eighteenth birthday last month, I moved the hell out of there. Couldn't be better."

Well, as better as a serial killer/stalker could get, Bianca supposed. No matter his mental state presently, though, she was overjoyed to see her old childhood friend again.

She threw her arms around him, and he assuredly hugged her back. "Josh, I'm so glad to see you. I thought I never would again."

"Wait, even after I...What I've done, you're still willing to forgive me and have me in your life?" Josh asked with an undercurrent of vulnerability.

Bianca briefly pecked him on the lips. "Yeah, I am. Besides, you saved me from getting raped by that asshole. You can't be that evil."

"Bianca, you don't know how evil I can get," he teased in his dark sense of humor.

"Oh, sure. But, I bet you're not so badass when you're wounded. Speaking of which, let's get you cleaned up. Sorry about that earlier."

"Ah, you didn't know. How could you? Nobody else does."

Coyly lacing her fingers through his, she led him up the stairs to the bathroom to treat his cut. And he glanced down at her, light blue eyes gleaming, as he passed a hand across her face.

"Anyone tell you you're beautiful, B?"

She playfully rolled her eyes. "What a line."

He stopped, which caused her to stop, too. Then, facing her, Josh clasped her hands in his own.

"Not when I mean it."

A night that could have easily been just another one of madness and terror was an incredible one that neither of them would forget. Sometimes, all that a slasher wants is just one person who understands him.

And if that person exists, then who knows? He could very possibly be reformed.

As would be true in the case of Josh Ellison, Woodsboro High outcast, and Bianca Holland, an ex-victim.

Warped as it seemed, though, the two of them were meant for each other.

* * *

**A/N: I know, it got so sappy at the end there. But, I couldn't resist. Besides, I had a dream like this about two weeks ago, only without as many details, obviously. And good thing I found that Socrates quote. I thought it was quite fitting for the story.**

**Hope you guys like it, if you're into the horror/romance type thing.**


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